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“I won’t buy you another house, and you are not forcing my father out of his,” I warned.
“And why is that? Because I am finally trying to make myself happy?” she hissed.
“I’m not your meal ticket, Mom. I set you both up for the rest of your life. Make it work,” I said, placing my card on the table for the bill.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked softly, trying to keep her voice weak so I would be sympathetic.
“No, Mom, why are you doing this to Dad? He’s put up with your abuse for years just to be able to stay married to you. Now because you finally have nothing to blame him for, you want to leave him? I solved your damn problem.” She gaped at me as I greedily sucked any remaining alcohol from my ice cubes.
Numb. Numb. Numb.
“I will not finance this divorce,” I said, resolute.
“Fine,” she said, closing down on me the way she always had.
“What happened to you?” I said, staring at her. She simply looked at me blankly. “I remember who you were before you became obsessed with money, and you were a cool lady.” My mother stared at me for a beat before she burst into tears. I looked around us, horrified.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but you have got to stop this. You are the parent.”
She refused to look at me as I threw my arm around her shoulder, leading her to the elevator. She cried the entire way back to her house while I apologized profusely. I knew better than to pick her up. Our relationship had soured years ago, and even more so when the calls started coming in about what I could “do” for her. It made me resent my money all the more.
She refused to acknowledge me when she exited the car. That’s when I knew I was in for it. She rarely forgave me easily. Her love wasn’t unconditional, and I had just purposely provoked her. I cursed my stupidity for the wrath I would be forced to endure. I would forever be sorry for hurting her, but not for what I said. My father deserved better. I may just give her what she wanted after all to save him from any more suffering.
I put my head in my hands in defeat as Carson drove away.
Fuck. My. Life!
My phone vibrated, and I looked at it, praying for a distraction.
Aiden: Plans today?
I couldn’t help my smile at my answered prayer. Then I thought about the state I was in. I had already unleashed on him unnecessarily. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with it again.
Nina: I’d make poor company. Another time?
Aiden: 2001 Palmetto Way. Half an hour.
I smiled as I gave Carson the address. I didn’t give a crap about appearances. I wanted to drink in those amber eyes, hear his chuckle. I simply wanted him.
Pulling out my mirror, I fixed the smudges beneath my eyes and smoothed down my one-piece, black silk pantsuit. I had on killer heels that wrapped around the cuffs. I was dressed for execution, and that was my plan. I wanted this man. I’d spent the better part of my morning fantasizing about him. I was less than satisfied with my whisper of a kiss.
We pulled up to a large beach house about forty-five minutes later. There was no way around Carson pulling up in my town car. I’d told Aiden I catered to the rich. I could easily say the car was borrowed. My wealth should have no bearing on our dating, but I wasn’t ready to come clean just yet.
Yeah, Nina, believe that lie all you want.
His home was beautiful, though it was far more modest than mine. I admired it immediately. It had much more of an ethereal feel. It was surrounded by palm trees and what looked like a private walk to the beach. I climbed his porch steps and shooed Carson away, making sure he was out of sight before knocking.
As soon as I knocked, the door opened. Aiden was standing, bare chested, and in swim trunks, his confusion clear as he took in my appearance. I was equally as stunned seeing the sleeve of tattoos that covered his right shoulder and most of his arm. It looked like half of a suit of armor. After a minute of appraisal, he smiled warmly.
“Hi,” he said, ushering me inside.
“Hi, back,” I flirted.
I looked around as he closed the door. The house was tastefully decorated in dark woods and pale accent colors, similar to mine. It was nice, far too nice for a bar owner. My curiosity was piqued, but I refused to pry, praying secretly for the same courtesy.
“I was just about to make margaritas. I didn’t know if you would show,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me into his spacious kitchen. He had a door open, and I could hear the waves as I noted the spectacular view. The kitchen was slightly messy and had that lived in look.
Now this was a home.
